A Model of Domesticity

This past weekend was awesome.  A good friend of mine from school drove out to the sticks to visit me, and we had a great time.  We cooked, and read, and hung out, and watched TV, and I wrote my sermon, and we went to the "big city" for dinner and a movie. 

Part of what I loved, though, was the getting-ready for her to come.  On Friday morning (what the heck happened to my week?), I got up and got going.  I did several loads of laundry, cleaned pretty much the whole house, vacuumed, made guacamole, put clean dishes away, took out the garbage, sorted through some mail, etc...

And it felt great.  For a while I was on the phone with my BFF from high school, talking through a rather strange situation I'm in.  But it felt so natural, just cleaning and organizing and making my home look bee-yoo-tif-full, talking about guys and kids and recipes and judge-y mothers who make their own challah bread every week.  It felt natural - in my element, if you will.

I have thought - for a long time - that I could be quite happy staying home with a bunch of kiddos and doing some freelance writing.  Maybe teaching part-time or something. 

Bring on the menfolk and the babies, that's what I have to say.